Hallelujah, Here We Go
by Stacey Verda
Summary: Veronica and Logan embrace the Christmas spirit. Post 2x09. Orginally written as cartoondoggy's vm santa gift over at Livejournal.


Her ears are ringing. Veronica leans her head against the door, allowing herself a moment before she has to greet Duncan with a spunky smile and a soft kiss. This day—week, month, _year_—has been wearing her down. A jolly and tastefully expensive Christmas wreath hangs on the door and she wants to tear it off, maybe stomp on it a few times. Instead she takes a steadying breath and pushes the door open with her shoulder, haphazardly balancing her messenger bag and a pizza box in her other hand. The door solidly bounces off something inside, so she sticks her head in the fifteen-inch gap and comes face-to-face with one Weevil Navarro. 

"Um?" is all she manages by way of greeting. He gives her more of a smirk than a smile as he pulls the door open and steps aside. She brushes past him, setting the pizza on the coffee table. Logan lounges on the couch, his tongue slipping past his lips as he smashes the buttons on his video game controller. Veronica looks between the two, assessing. Neither seems to be bleeding. "Did I just walk into an alternate dimension, by any chance?"

"Duncan's not here," comes Logan's answer. His character slices another in half with the sword growing out of his arm. He grabs a tumbler from the coffee table and takes a sip as his character does an elaborate series of kicks in celebration.

"What?" she asks, momentarily distracted. There are animated entrails in HD on his television screen. She motions to the pizza box. "We're supposed to have dinner. Where is he?"

Logan rattles the ice cubes around in his glass. "He's visiting Ex-Girlfriend Not in a Coma. Although," he says, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of ice as Veronica involuntarily sinks into the armchair across from him, "that reference is kind of more effort than it's worth now."

"We were going to go over there together," Veronica mumbles, more to herself than Logan. Her relief over Meg's condition sits forgotten in the corner as her jealousy and suspicion do a high-five. She glances over at Weevil, as if he could explain the situation. He raises his hands in defense.

"Hey, Gallant was gone long before I got here. I don't know anything about it."

"You don't know anything _period_," Logan mutters, taking another sip from his drink.

Weevil flashes him a warning look. "Yeah, well, I have to get going, so…"

Veronica latches onto Logan's remark, stuffing her warring feelings away for later. "Weevil's here. Why's _Weevil_ here?"

"I guess nothing gets past you, Nancy Drew, huh?" Logan returns dryly. He sets his drink on the table with more force than necessary; a little tidal wave of Jack Daniels and Coke splashes over the side of the glass and onto the table. "And didn't you hear me? Duncan's off playing nursemaid, so make like a tree. We're kind of in the middle of something."

"And what sort of something are you in the middle of? If you're organizing another poker game, I'm going to be highly insulted that you didn't invite me." She looks from Logan to Weevil then back again. "Seriously. You were suspended for smashing each other's faces into the bathroom tiles last week—which, by the way, is incredibly unsanitary—and now you've got a play date in Logan's hotel room? Oh, oh, _wait_, was that a lover's quarrel? Are you guys—"

"You sure you want to finish that sentence?" Weevil asks, crossing his arms. Logan just rolls his eyes and picks up his drink.

Veronica grins. "I'm a _detective_, guys, you can't fool me. And frankly, it's been a long time coming. I knew all that—"

"Hey, you know how there's a witness to that pesky little murder I _didn't commit_? And you know how no one really seems to give a flying fuck?" Logan glares pointedly at her, crushing an ice cube violently between his teeth. He glances at Weevil and shrugs. "We pooled our resources."

"And since when did you start caring?" Veronica turns to Weevil. He shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

"Maybe you weren't completely wrong about the guys not telling me the whole truth. I care about Felix, and making this right." His eyes connect with hers. "I think you know something about that."

Veronica considers the two of them. She meant to help Logan; she said she would. But with her love life on semi-stable ground, Aaron safely behind bars, and the LeBaron's tires blessedly untouched by the idiots she goes to school with, burying Logan's problems away meant actually getting some decent sleep at night. Their little sojourn to the River Stix made her realize exactly what Logan was up against. And that her Normal Plan, her attempt to stay away from seedy bars and dangerous men, was indeed the right idea. So maybe for a little while, she decided to pretend that she had nothing to do with… well, Logan. 

But an upcoming murder trial isn't exactly something Logan can just ignore. He may be the living, breathing embodiment of denial and repression and the whole rest of the gamut of Freudian defense mechanisms, but even he isn't that good. So while she's been busy brewing exotically flavored coffee instead of solving murder mysteries, he's been re-arrested and re-accused. And while she traded in one rich, baggage-laden boyfriend for another, he's been alone. Ex-Laker Girl playmates hardly provide much emotional support. 

His hand rubs across his forehead, a painfully familiar gesture, and Veronica comes to a decision.

"So, are you guys, like, Crocket and Tubbs, or more Batman and Robin?" she asks.

"Pastels have never been good for my skin tone," Logan answers absently. He groans as his opponent rips his character's arm off and slaps him with it.

"Yeah, but tights? What do you think, Weevil? I'm sure we could find you a cute mask." 

"And that's my cue to leave." Weevil opens the door, stopping halfway through. "Oh, and Veronica... don't spread this around. If the PCHers hear about this, I'll wash up in pieces all along the Pacific coast."

"Mum's the word. Although," she selects a piece of pizza from the box and takes a bite, "there might be just a few more. And jokes. Lots and lots of jokes at your expense."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." The door clicks shut behind him and it's just the two of them, Veronica and Logan. He heads toward the mini bar. 

"Well," he says, pouring a liberal amount of JD into his glass and raising it in mocking tribute. "It's been fun playing catch up, but I've got some important business to attend to, so…"

"What do you think you and Weevil are going to accomplish? Or are you afraid to go in blind and want him as your cell mate?" she asks. He smirks but doesn't say anything, instead taking a sip. "Why can't you just leave this to the professionals?" 

He laughs, choking slightly on his drink. "Who, Lamb? Yeah, sure, because he's been doing such a bang-up job of clearing my name so far."

"I said _professionals_, Logan. In what universe would that be a word I'd use to describe _Lamb_?"

He considers her for a beat then tosses back his drink. "I wasn't aware you were still on the case. You've made it perfectly clear that I'm not even a blip on your otherwise omniscient and nosy radar. Why the sudden interest?"

"Logan…" She falters, looking away. "You know I… Look, I know I haven't exactly been giving your situation my undivided attention." He opens his mouth but she continues, cutting off whatever remark that statement sparked. "But I said I'd help, so I will."

Logan crosses the room and flops back on the couch, continuing his video game. "This isn't some kid at school looking for his lost _whatever_, Veronica. I'm eyeball deep in pissed off Fitzapatricks. And as I'm sure your cheek remembers, they're about as fluffy and lovable as you'd expect a murderous, drug dealing Irish gang to be." Pausing the game, he finds her gaze and holds it. "I'm not putting you in danger because of me." _Not again_. The words hang between them, unsaid but understood.

She rolls her eyes.

"You're not _putting_ me anywhere, Logan. And anyway, they caught me by surprise last time. It won't happen again. So just go back to your video game and let me handle this."

"What, do you think all you have to do is saunter into the River Stix in your shortest skirt and Liam Fitzpatrick will just start spewing information? In case you didn't notice, your "certain subtlety" didn't really work last time." His remark is accompanied by air quotes and her eyes roll again automatically. It's practically her Pavlovian response to his voice.

"Oh, yeah, like you've got some brilliant plan in the works. You and Weevil going to tape an entire gang to the flagpole?"

"If you must know," Logan says, tossing the controller onto the couch cushions and finally rewarding her with his full attention, "one of Weevil's flunkies accidentally tipped him off. When you forced your way in uninvited, we were planning a stakeout." He steals a slice of pizza and gives her a smug look as he takes a huge bite. 

"So whose car are you taking? Are you going to ride on the back of Weevil's bike? Because your SUV is basically a blinking neon sign."

"Yeah, well, you sort of interrupted our super secret meeting before we could hammer out the logistics," he returns, his mouth full of pizza. Veronica wrinkles her nose. 

She regards him in silence for a few seconds, trying to keep from verbalizing the idea bouncing around in her brain, but of course she can't. She never could. It's the reason she generally finds herself in these sorts of situations, the reason her normal schtick isn't working out as well as she'd hoped it would.

She kind of misses it. Him, too, even if she won't admit it.

"I'll do it," she finally offers, sounding a lot less reluctant than she'd prefer. 

"Thanks, but no thanks. We've got this under control." He grabs another piece of pizza and waves it at the door. "You can leave now. I'll be sure to tell Duncan you stopped by when he gets home. Whenever that is."

His causal remark is like the snap of a rubber band against her skin; she'd almost forgotten why she was there and where Duncan was. She bites her lip and studies the room in the ensuing charged silence. Apparently the presidential suit comes with a personal holiday decorator: the room vomits holiday cheer. A real Christmas tree even sits in the corner, its branches heavy with dried oranges and strings of cranberry and popcorn. Veronica tries to imagine Logan and Duncan trimming the tree together, maybe with some Bing Crosby playing in the background, and she almost dissolves into giggles. It clears her mind, anyway. 

"Logan, let me do this. I need to," she says quietly. 

Veronica's gotten pretty good at ignoring it, but she does harbor a certain amount of guilt over Logan's predicament. In a backwards way, she holds herself responsible for what happened that night on the bridge. And there's always that little issue of her accusing him of murdering Lilly, _their_ Lilly. Last summer, she couldn't understand how he could even look at her after she betrayed him like that. Not that she's sorry it happened; she never would have found out about Aaron if she hadn't. It's just sort of telling when the only person you can count on tried to send you to prison. But then again, betrayal seems to be the over-arching theme of their relationship.

Not that the word even applies to them anymore. 

Veronica glances at Logan. He considers her through his eyelashes and she feels her heart thump against her ribs. He sighs.

"Fine, whatever. It's going down Saturday morning in some abandoned parking lot on Forrest Street. The guy's generally there from eight to nine, so you should pick us up at seven."

"Drug deals on Christmas Eve? Is nothing sacred?" She shakes her head as she stands. "Can both of you even fit in my car?"

Logan shrugs, grinning. "We can stuff Weeves in the trunk."

"You can be in charge of that." She grabs her messenger bag and slings it over her shoulder. "You're welcome for dinner, by the way." 

He stops her with one word as she's pushing open the door: "Why?"

She doesn't look at him, concentrating instead on her fingers gripping the doorknob. "You're an idiot, Logan. An ass, too. But you're not going to prison." She braves a glance backward and his face is unbearably open. He hasn't looked at her like that in months. 

She pushes through the door and heads home.

&&&

Pulling into the parking lot, she finds Logan leaning against the Neptune Grand sign and squinting in the early morning sunlight. His hair is still wet from the shower and his hands are hidden in the sleeves of his hoodie. Weevil's nowhere to be seen.

"I didn't think you were coming." He slides into her car and pushes the passenger seat as far back as it goes. His knees still rest against the glove compartment.

"It's only five after seven," she answers, looking around. "Where's Weevil?"

"He, uh, had to watch his cousin or something, I don't know. He called me at six this morning. I could barely figure out how to answer my phone, let alone understand the words he was saying." He fiddles with the door handle. He won't look at her and she has no idea why. She was anticipating something about Duncan and Meg and, now that the cat's out of the bag, the ithing/i gestating in her stomach. She was expecting Logan to twist the screws a little, because that's what he does, and it's almost what she needs right now. She feels like an idiot—a pissed off, guilty idiot—and she's not completely sure why. 

But he remains uncharacteristically silent as she drives out of 09er territory and navigates the back streets of Neptune. Twinkling lights wrap around broken lamp posts and a wilted evergreen wreath hangs on the door of a pawn shop. It all feels so surreal, but then again, at least down here no one tries to hide the shady underbelly. It's unapologetically in plain view and tied up in a big red bow. She almost prefers it to last Christmas, the Echolls' party's tawdry affairs and devastating secrets camouflaged by sparkling tinsel and manufactured snow. Metaphors aren't really her style; Veronica likes to think she's a ready-set-go kind of gal.

She risks a glance at Logan. His head rests against the window, his breath coating the glass with a thin layer of condensation. She realizes that tomorrow is his first official Christmas alone, although she suspects he's lived through a lot more than that, and her hearts aches a little. She almost says something about it, but there's already an unnamed pink elephant crammed in the backseat of the LeBaron and she doesn't want to make this trip any more awkward than it already feels. She hates not knowing where she stands with Logan, but even more so, she hates admitting that to him. So she punches the radio on and sings along softly to the hippopotamus song.

They finally roll to a stop in front of a boarded-up diner, the vacant lot two blocks ahead of them. A black Escalade with tinted windows pulls up twenty minutes later.

"Drug dealers are oddly punctual criminals." She gives him an uncertain smile but he's apparently transfixed with her manual windows. He keeps swinging the handle back and forth. "What, never seen one of those?"

"Huh?" He looks up in confusion and she nods at his fingers.

"Cars made before 1995 don't have magic buttons that lock the doors or make the windows go down. Also? No air conditioning."

The subject of her ancient and usually malfunctioning car is a favorite of his. And sure enough, mock confusion replaces the genuine version on Logan's face. "I'm sorry, that phrase doesn't compute." His lips allow a crooked grin. He finally meets her eyes and she notes with surprise the dark circles under his. 

"Did I miss a wild party last night?" She regrets the words almost as soon as she says them. Hearing a detailed account of Logan's debauchery is definitely high on her list of things she'd rather not experience before noon on a Saturday morning. Or, you know, at all. Ever. 

He's about to answer when a glossy red convertible with the top up slows to a stop next to the Escalade. She readies her camera, but instead of Dr. Griffith, a blond woman in a designer sweat suit hops out of the passenger seat. Veronica snaps a few pictures anyway.

"Look, I don't know if you're waiting for me to say something or whatever…" Logan begins haltingly after ten minutes of silence and no sign of Dr. Griffith. She glances over at him in confusion. He keeps his eyes trained on the Escalade, chewing on his thumbnail.

"Que?"

"I don't know what your dad told you, but there was a reason I did it, okay?" 

"Um, yay?" She flicks him on the shoulder so that he turns to look at her. "What about my dad? And you had a reason for _what_?" 

He searches her face and she feels her stomach drop. It's an oddly familiar sensation when it comes to Logan Echolls and his "reasons."

"He didn't tell you anything?" He waits quietly for her answer, his face carefully devoid of any expression. He looks pale under his usual surfer's tan.

"No, he did not. And you're starting to freak me out. What the hell are you talking about?" She waits with her heart in her throat. There are times she's almost ashamed of the conclusions she jumps to, and then there are times like now, when she understands why she always suspects the worst. People do stupid things and she generally has to clean up the mess they leave behind. 

Logan looks like a cornered rabbit.

"Oh, um, I just… I started another season of skid row boxing and your dad gave me a stern talking-to." 

She can't speak for a few seconds; she's almost appalled. He generally doesn't have any tells—acting skills definitely aren't genetic, because on a good day, Logan could convince a polygraph machine that he has three arms—but right now his eye is practically twitching.

"Seriously, Logan? Your pants are going to burst into flames any second now. You know I'll dig up the truth eventually, so just come clean. Hell hath no fury like a Veronica deceived." 

He sighs; she can actually see him bracing himself. "I erased the tapes of Lilly and my da—and Aaron." 

Veronica can only stare.

He tugs his hand through his hair and it all comes out in a rush. "Someone at the station stole them from evidence and was trying to sell them to the tabloids. What was I supposed to do? I can't have Daddy Dearest fucking Lilly on the cover of every piece of three dollar shit on the news stands. I just… I can't."

Logan stares at her with pleading eyes and it feels like her lungs are filling with water. Without actively deciding to, she starts the car. Her hand numbly throws it into drive. 

"Where are you going?" He watches her warily, as if she's going to find the nearest cliff and drive off it. "What about Nip/Schmuck?"

She doesn't answer. Her body robotically finds its way out of inner Neptune; it stops at red lights and switches on the turn signal independently as his words echo through her head. She bites back a scream and tries not to laugh because Jesus Christ, it just never _stops_, does it?

He knows what happened, what she went through, what her dad had to do to make sure those tapes got in the hands of the sheriff department. They never talked about it but he traced the raw skin on her temple before it even bruised. He drove her to the hospital to visit Keith while her car was in the shop. He kissed the insides of her wrist, the burn marks as they finally scarred over, and apologized the only way he knew how for something he couldn't control.

She almost died to get those tapes.

"I almost died getting those tapes," she whispers as they pull up to the Grand. She doesn't even bother putting it in park. She waits silently for him to get out, get away, _leave_.

"I know, Veronica." His eyes glisten with tears as he watches her. "But you have to understand. I couldn't let them get out. They would've been everywhere, Veronica. _Everywhere_. I couldn't let that happen to Lilly."

"Get out of my car," she spits. He fumbles open the door.

"Veronica…" His voice is thick, pained.

"It's what she would have done, you know that, right? She would have sold them to the highest bidder and laughed her way into a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. Do you think she was embarrassed about it? She probably thought it was hilarious that she could get away with something like that _right under your nose_." She glares at him, eyes burning, breathing heavily. In the back of her mind she's sickeningly proud; each word hits like a physical blow and this is the deepest she's cut anyone in a long time. She didn't even know he still cared this much. 

"I was wrong. You do deserve jail. For this, you deserve _worse_. Aaron bashed Lilly's brains in and now he's going to walk free because you're stupid and jealous and I'm going to _laugh_ when they sentence you to prison. I took two years of abuse from you and all of your cronies because I was the only one willing to get Lilly her justice and I almost _died_ and now it doesn't even matter. Get the fuck out of my car." She shoves him with her last words, two fists against his shoulder, and he stumbles out of her car, almost falling as he tries to untangle his legs. She reaches across the passenger seat and slams the door shut. 

Veronica watches him in her rearview mirror as she drives away, getting smaller and smaller until he disappears and the tears fall.

&&&

She's stretched across the couch, already in her pajamas and watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ with her father when there's a noise at the door. From his spot at Keith's feet, Backup looks up in interest, his ears twitching.

"Someone there, boy?" Keith asks, rubbing his hand over the dog's ears. Veronica tiptoes to the door, Backup at her heels. She peeks through the curtain and watches Logan set something down on the doorstep. 

He doesn't seem surprised when she pulls the door open.

"This would have worked on _The O.C._," he mumbles, standing. His hair looks disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it all night, and he seems almost afraid to even look at her.

"Nah. It's much more dramatic this way," she answers reluctantly. She's suddenly so tired she has to lean against the doorway. Backup slips past her and shoves his nose in Logan's hand.

"Hey there, Backup." Logan scratches him behind his ears and Backup pants happily, his tail swinging violently. 

"Veronica?" Keith gets out of his chair. He raises an eyebrow, nodding toward the door.

"It's fine, Dad," she says softly. "Backup, come inside." She nudges him in with her leg and steps outside, closing the door behind her. The crisp December air sends a rush of goosebumps up her bare arms and she crosses them. Whether it's to hold her together or keep him out, she's not sure.

"Logan, what are you doing here?" 

"I just came to give you this." He pushes a box into her hand. She stares down at the silver bow adorning it.

"What… is this?" 

He doesn't say anything; he just watches her, his fingers playing with the ends of his shirt sleeves. She peels the bow off.

"A tape?" She glances at him in confusion, barely letting herself hope.

"When your dad came, I hadn't gotten around to all the tapes. After he left, I didn't really know what to do. I threw this one in the drawer and figured I'd take care of it later." He shrugs, tapping a beat with his fingers against the porch rail. "So just, I don't know, take it to Lamb tomorrow or whatever."

Veronica considers him in silence. They listen to George Bailey inside, promising Mary the moon. She smiles, and for the first time in a long while, it isn't a conscious effort.

"You couldn't have mentioned this earlier? Like, say, yesterday?"

He scratches behind his ear. "Yeah, well, I was kind of incredibly drunk when I did that, so I didn't remember until I went looking for a spoon this morning and found it."

"I see." She spins the tape around in her hands, admiring its solidity against her fingertips. "I've got something for you, too. You want to come inside?"

He peers through the window at Keith, who's doing a really bad job of pretending he isn't trying to listen to every word they say. "Nah. I think I'll wait out here."

She goes to her room and snatches a manila envelope off her desk. As she passes Keith, he shoots her a questioning look. She throws the tape in his lap.

"He didn't erase them all." She can't help the grin that spreads over her face.

When she joins him outside, he's leaning over the railing, faintly backlit by the light from the pool downstairs. She smacks him in the arm with the envelope.

"Here."

He eyes it suspiciously. "Are snakes going to pop out when I open it? Or will it just explode?"

She rolls her eyes, hiding a smile. She's very suddenly full of them tonight. "Just open it."

He undoes the tabs and pulls out the glossy black and white photos. He studies them then looks to Veronica for a clue.

"It seems that our esteemed Dr. Griffith isn't a cokehead." She pauses for suspense and he raises an eyebrow. "His _mistress_, however, is."

Logan grins and shakes his head, tilting the photographs so they catch the orange light from the window. "That is all _sorts_ of tawdry." 

"And I've got the pictures to prove it."

He laughs out loud when he comes to a particularly graphic picture. "You sure do. Is this… the Camelot?"

"It is famous for its hourly rate, you know. Or is it infamous? I always get those confused." Veronica says, smirking. "Anyway, while his wife and daughter were at church yesterday, he snuck out for a quickie and met that girl we saw yesterday with the red convertible."

"And you were what, stalking him?" He watches her curiously. "You followed him to the Camelot?"

"Ah, well, that was sort of a lucky coincidence. On my way home from jury duty I happened to swing by his house as he was leaving. I followed him on a whim." Actually, she waited outside his house for hours until his family went to Midnight Mass and he left twenty minutes later. She was beyond pissed at Logan, her hands shaking with a certain rage he hasn't inspired in a long time, but she just couldn't sentence him like that. Not again. 

But he doesn't need to know that.

"So what are you going to do with these?" He waves the pictures around. "Blackmail? Mail a copy daily to his office with a threatening letter? Something more creative and evil I've yet to cook up?"

"That's up to you. They're yours. Have fun with it."

"Encouraged illegal activity. Man, it really is Christmas." He stacks them with a snap against the railing then slides the evidence back in their envelope. He rests his hand against his chest. "I think—yes, I can actually feel my heart growing three sizes."

"You're hardly the Grinch, Logan," she allows. He gives her a half smile and it's the most genuine thing he's let himself do around her in weeks. She smiles back.

"Oh, but you'd make such a cute Cindy Lou Who. You're just about her size."

"Wow, short jokes never get old, do they?" she replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes. He laughs and she finds she likes the sound. They consider the courtyard quietly, side by side, watching the light breeze ripple the pool water. 

"So," he said quietly. "Are you having a holly, jolly Christmas?" 

"You know what? I kind of am. You?"

Logan shrugs awkwardly. "Oh, you know. Had some room service, watched some iFuturama/i, did the self-pitying thing for a while. It's been a full night." He taps the manila envelop against her shoulder. "Thanks, Veronica. I mean it."

It's her turn to shrug awkwardly; they've never been too good at authenticity. It always ends in accusations or gunfire. "Despite what I may have said yesterday, I don't want you to go to jail."

"You don't, huh?" His eyes find hers in the almost dark and his face is a lot closer than she thought it was. She shakes her head and of its own accord, her hand covers his on the railing. 

"Veronica? Everything okay out there?" Keith yells suddenly, making Veronica jump. By now, she's half-convinced he has some sixth sense that alerts him whenever she's two seconds away from making a stupid, Logan-Echolls-themed decision. Which is good, because hers seems to be on the fritz. And anyway, she still has a Duncan, and she still thinks Logan is a horrible, no good, very bad idea. 

Or at least she's pretty sure she still thinks that. He does one semi-decent thing and it makes her heart flutter like a butterfly trapped in a jar. Veronica rolls her eyes self-consciously as she slips her hand off of his and buries it in her hair. "Perfectly fine, Father," she calls back, taking a step away from Logan. 

He eyes the doorway with distaste. "What do you think he'd do if I told him we were making violent love?"

A surprised laugh forces its way out. "I don't know, but it would probably be bloody. And counterproductive to that envelope in your hand."

"I guess I should get going, then." He leans back against the railing and looks down at her, reminding Veronica of that day at the Camelot. It seems so long ago but she can feel it in her bones, the way his body would press against hers and his arms would wrap around her waist and his lips would feel against her own. She looks away before she lets herself get too caught up.

"Yeah. I'll see you later, I guess."

She watches him head toward the stairs. He's halfway down when she lets herself ask it. "Did you watch them?"

He pauses. "Yeah."

Her heart breaks. "Why?"

He shrugs, his hand finding its way through his hair. "I guess… I needed to know. If she was the same with him as she was with me." The last part is so quiet she barely hears it, but it's unmistakable. She wonders for the millionth time how a father can do that to a son, and how Logan can even be standing right now. She sighs, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She wants to ask if it was worth it, if he saw what he needed, if he's sorry he bothered. 

She lets it go for once.

"Merry Christmas, Logan."

"Good night, Veronica."

She stays outside until his headlights disappear down the road, then she heads back inside to watch Clarence earn his wings.


End file.
